In Winter, when Your Home is Chilly
by Goddess of Idun
Summary: The Lair is usually an amazing, awesome and spectacular place to live, but there's one problem - it's cold in the winter. Nominated for MOST ACCURATE PORTRAYAL OF THE TMNT in the Stealthy Stories TMNT fanfiction competition 2011.


This has earlier been published on LiveJournal, as a birthday gift. You know who you are.

Disclaimer: Not mine.

**In Winter, when Your Home is Chilly, Wrap Up in a Blanket which is Frilly**

In many ways, the Lair was an awesome place to live. It was hidden, spacious, comfortable (or, as comfortable as it could be located in the sewers), close to tourist attractions and shopping, in no need of building permit, and weatherproof.

Yeah, weatherproof. Of course it was weatherproof.

Right?

…

All right, all right, so maybe it wasn't _totally_ weatherproof. Details, details. Sheesh…

Since you're so hung up on stupid _facts_, let me tell you a story.

* * *

><p>It was a dark and (snow-)stormy night. No really, it was. Normally, this wouldn't be a problem, with the Lair being underground and all. But it was in the middle of February and the coldest night within the memory of man – or turtle, and we all know how old turtles can become – and despite Donatello's best attempts to install heaters, the chill sneaked down into the mutants' awesome home.<p>

Raphael's teeth were chattering. "Do-o-on-nie-e-e, do-o som-methi-in'," he demanded, wrapping the grey comforter (which once had been white) more tightly around himself. Mikey, silently agreeing with his brother, shuddered under his flowered quilt.

"I've tri-ed alre-ead-y, Ra-a-aph," Don replied, trying to glare but losing the menacing effect since his face was half covered in a duckling-patterned blanket. "It's to-oo co-old for the he-eaters. The-e-ey are brea-ki-ing down. All we can do-oo i-is to stay cl-ose to o-one ano-ther and wa-ait it ou-t."

Raph grumbled as he reached out for the tray his adoptive father was holding out. Splinter, being warm-blooded, was the one being the least bothered by the cold, which didn't mean that he wouldn't seize the opportunity and make himself a cup of lovely green tea. It was bad luck that he had to share with his sons, if only for good manners.

"May-aybe we sho-ould share bo-ody warmth," Leonardo the Leader, wrapped in a rainbow-coloured quilt, suggested. Being the Leader, he reckoned – or at least hoped – that everyone present would cheer and say: "Hey, that's a jolly good idea, your Magnificence!" despite the facts that 1) "jolly" is a word used in Britain, not in New York; 2) no-one had ever called Leonardo "your Magnificence" in his entire life; and 3) being this particular family, they'd probably sooner go back to their non-mutated states than say such a thing.

While he didn't get the response he had wished for, it was agreed that the body warmth idea wasn't that bad, and though they all were freezing their tails off they started a childish banter of who should cuddle up with whom, instead of just getting to it already and solve their chilly problem.

"Oh, no wa-ay. I'm NOT sha-arin' bo-ody warmth with Fearle-ess!"

"We-ell, if it ma-akes you fe-eel any bet-ter, I don't wa-ant to sha-are with you ei-ther!"

"Do-onnie? Wanna sha-are with me-e?"

"Oh no-o, Mi-key. I don't wa-ant yo-ou drool-ing in my e-ar."

_BAM!_ went the sound of Splinter's paw slamming the table, turning it even wobblier than it already was. "My sons, you are stupid, childish, stupid, stubborn and stupid. I will exert my sensei super powers and decide for you."

After taking a moment to envy their adoptive father for not having chattering teeth, the turtles grumpily agreed.

"Donatello, you share with Leonardo. Raphael, you share with Michelangelo. Myself, I'll share with the teapot."

The four brothers huffed while cuddling up in pairs.

"EEEEEK-K-K! You've got co-old fe-ee-t!"

"Sto-op pu-shing me!"

"No-ot pushing you!"

"You SO-O are!"

"Am n-ot!"

"A-re too!"

"Am not!"

"Are to-oo!"

"A-am NOT!"

"Are TOO!"

"SILENCE!" roared Splinter (which was quite an achievement, being a rat). His sons immediately snapped their jaws shut, Mikey biting his tongue by mistake. He was just about to start complaining, when he saw his master's glare. "From now on, no-one is allowed to whine about anyone, until I give permission. That's the rule that I just made up. And I'm backing it up with this walking stick!" He menacingly brandished his – after the teapot – second most treasured item in the world at them. (In fact, he cherished his walking stick more than he did his kimono, to the turtles' despair during their own special version of strip poker.)

"Yes, Master," they mumbled.

For a few minutes, all communication that took place in the Lair was the hostile glares being sent between the turtles. If looks could kill, Splinter would've lost all his heirs. Not that he'd mind that much – kids were mostly trouble anyway.

A _PLING!_ from the direction of Donatello's lab announced the arrival of an email. The purple-clad turtle glanced furtively at Leonardo, wondering whether it was worth leaving the rainbow-coloured and duckling-patterned blankets in his older brother's possession. On one hand, Leo might refuse to share the blanket when Donnie came back. On the other hand, what if the email was important? What if the Nobel Foundation had finally decided to give him all the prizes in one go? If so, the sacrifice was necessary!

"Um, go-otta leave for a-a few mi-nutes," he said, leaving his spot on the sofa and hurrying off to his lab. "I-I'll be b-back in a mo-oment!"

Leo frowned after him. He wanted to say: "Bu-ut what about b-body he-at?" But since he had his pride, admitting that he'd actually_ miss_ Donatello wasn't an option. He grumbled and wrapped the blankets tighter around himself.

When Donatello returned to the living area – dissatisfied, since the e-mail had been advertising for Viagra and not the announcement of him being the greatest scientist since the Big Bang – Leonardo, of course, refused to give up the blankets on pure spite. "It's your o-own f-ault," he snapped. "Yo-ou sho-uldn't have left."

"_My_ fa-ault? How c-can it be _my_ f-fault? I didn't se-end the stu-p-pid email!"

"Your pro-o-oblem," Leo said calmly. "Ha-ha," he added, just for good measure.

That's when Donatello had enough, and jumped him.

The two remaining brothers quickly realized that fighting would be a much more efficient way of keeping warm, so they threw themselves onto Don and Leo as well, shouting in enthusiasm and pain. Splinter, angry that his sons were ignoring his new rules, started smashing his walking stick randomly at the pile. He soon realized that it was of no use.

He sighed. "I give up," he said to himself. "More tea for me anyway."

**THE END**

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